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Back Four Roads Cross Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. Acknowledgments
  73. Also by Max Gladstone
  74. About the Author
  75. Newsletter Sign-up

Coming up. But are you sure there’s nothing you’d like me to fix, long as you’re here? A little guilt to absolve? Anger or self-hatred to rub away?

She felt revulsion at herself for even considering, but she heard laughter, too, high and clear.

I was just fooling. But I’m here if you need me.

I know.

Tara turned to leave the moon road, but hesitated, one foot hovering over eternity.

Yes?

Now that you mention it, this suit needs some work.

68

68

Little was left of Daphne Mains.

The machine built inside her defended itself. Wheels and wards, enchantments and escarpments and demonic intelligences spun against the Blacksuits who swept through the sky, and against one of them in specific, the claw-fingered angel who tore Daphne and was torn in turn. The machine needed more power, more speed, and it burned through Daphne’s shells, recruiting shards of her annexed soul for the war effort. Dreams, nightmares, fantasies, mirror-memories, all melted for the sake of speed.

Observer-Daphne, at the bottom of her mind’s well, felt parts of her she had not known survived grind in the machine.

She thought slowly.

Slower.

Drained of color, judgment, time.

Many hands speared Blacksuits in midair. Hurt them. Trapped them. Flayed the goddess from them. One Suit dove for Madeline Ramp instead of Daphne; Ramp raised a hand. The Suit bounced off an invisible wall.

Thoughts reached Daphne under deep water’s weight, when they reached her at all. The machine moved fast, though. She caught the winged cop around the throat. The cop tore free, bleeding. She caught her again, one arm, then the next. Daphne grew two more claws, and her fingers sharpened to diamond points, to pierce.

Time went strange.

A voice spoke, over and beside the din.

“Apologies to the court for my tardiness.”

Daphne, inside herself, recognized that voice. Tara.

“Ms. Abernathy,” the Judge said, “you’re late.”

“I was delayed.” She stood outside the circle, on empty air. “I am sorry.”

She wore a suit of nacreous gray, as if pearls had been spun to wool and woven. Moonlight caught in her hair and on the curve of her cheek. She held a briefcase.

“Sorry,” the Judge said, “doesn’t cover it, Ms. Abernathy. Ms. Ramp and Ms. Mains at least comport themselves within the standards of the court—but these creatures entering themselves as representatives, Wakefield sniping from the sidelines, local authorities trying to arrest Craftswomen in my own circle—I won’t let you derail these proceedings further.”

“That’s fine, Your Honor,” Tara said. “I don’t mean to derail these proceedings at all.”

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